


Ghost Of You

by Wooshin_stan



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Sad Ending, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 01:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18488698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wooshin_stan/pseuds/Wooshin_stan
Summary: Was this worth it?Life, where all his happiness drowned out, turning into hollow depression.When he knew he'd never see the world's true colours again, never see his other half, the only love he ever knew.That his heart would beat alone, without someone to match to the rhythm.





	Ghost Of You

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags.
> 
> Inspired by 5SOS's Ghost Of You and its lyrics. I recommend listening to the song while you read this.

Soulmates are a tricky thing.

While some won't ever find them, others lucky enough to get to spend their whole lives together.

Yet not even the pain of never knowing one's soulmate could beat the agony of losing them when you're so sure you can't live on alone.

 

Another day, another pair of salt-speckled tear tracks down his cheeks. With the alarm blaring into his face, Jisung blinked through the haziness to turn it off, a single moment awake and he was on the verge of crying again.

Just like every day for the past months. His vision was blurry, breaths always cutting short and life falling apart.

With a single look to his side, the hysterical sobbing was back. Seeing those ruffled sheets that still smelled of _him_ , that one cup sticky from the awfully greasy chapstick _he_ loved to use, all left untouched. 

Like a lipstick mark, the chapstick stuck to the cup and Jisung couldn't bring himself to wash it, desperate to preserve at least a piece of Chan.

More often than not, his dreams ended up turning into nightmares, that night incredibly vivid in his mind, memory fresh as if it was happening right in front of him again, over and over, every single night.

With each hour of sleep he got, his heart broke a little bit more, because he'd wake up alone.

The neverending trembling in his hands became a constant reminder of how cold Chan's own hands were when he found him. 

With a sigh, the boy forced himself to get up. Stick-thin, appetite long gone, will to live rapidly withering away along with it. With legs that were sure to give out on him any minute, he walked through his life, day by day, hating it more with each date that went by.

Once again, his world lacked colour, his poor, bloodshot eyes saw nothing but the ridiculous monochrome shades of grey. Those once bright-blue skies, the ugly beige colour coating his apartment walls, all of those were grey. They would stay that way forever. 

-

He wouldn't, couldn't be cheered up again. Not even music, that one thing he thought he loved the most and would love forever, didn't make it for him anymore.

Back in the days, he wanted nothing more than a few paper sheets and his piano. He was proved wrong when he found Chan.

Chan, the one person who'd always share his heartbeat, as both of their hearts existed as one. Beautiful Chan, whom Jisung called his soulmate. He couldn't listen to music without feeling that all familiar ache now.

The knowledge he was alone, loneliness creeping up his veins. Every single one of those old songs reminded him of when he and Chan would dance to them together, late at night, laughter filling in the room's silence even after the music stopped, both of them absolutely content with life.

Jisung thought everything was alright, hoped it would stay that way.

Because they were perfect, right?

But as the fate had it, he was cruelly proved wrong.

It happened while searching for his work shirt, that Jisung's hand hit _it_. That one particular shirt, the ugly, dirty, ratty T-Shirt, more holes than fabric at this point, with the prints long washed out, that one T-Shirt Chan wore when they first met.

On that fateful night, out in the station lobby, Jisung bored and waiting for the next train and Chan desperate to warm himself, too afraid to spend another night on the park bench.

Sickly skinny, face smeared with dirt, rapidly giving up on life. And was he beautiful.

With a single look from the boy, Jisung's world burst into colour, the spectrum hitting him with full force. But he couldn't look anywhere else to admire how new his old world looked. Not when he stood right in front of him. 

On that night, Chan curled up in his king sized bed, freshly showered, well-fed, wearing Jisung's clothes. No need to say that Jisung was gone for him. 

Chan never really told him what made him run away. Perhaps if Jisung pushed harder, demanded to know, tried to help him instead of thinking that everything would be alright without trying, maybe Chan would still be alive.

It hurt, not having his beautiful Chan, losing his other half. Especially while knowing he's at fault.

He felt incomplete, like darkness without its light. Half of his heart was ripped away from him, Chan taking his happiness away, bringing it wherever he was headed to now. 

He would stay like that forever. Like a creation thrown away before it was finished. As if the painter painting his life decided he wasn't worth it anymore, ripped the painting before he could glaze his imaginary piece with a bit of light.

Jisung's friends tried to help, make him feel better. But none of them knew what it felt like. All were happy with their lives, quietly pitying him while holding onto their soulmates, all of them had that one thing Jisung would never find again. They wouldn't know the pain.

He chose to shut himself away from everything and everyone. Cut all strings, build walls around his heart. Closed his whole self in concrete, refusing to let anyone in, hiding from the light, afraid of the pain it would leave behind once it disappeared.

His apartment was a mess, Jisung hasn't cleaned since Chan died. He couldn't bring himself to do it.

Maybe he didn't want to, in sake of feeling the leftovers of Chan's presence in the silent rooms. The ghost of him, never saying anything, but still as comforting as ever. Yet it was more heartbreaking than anything else, anything he ever felt before.

Like an echo, he sometimes heard Chan's angelic voice, those few songs he liked to sing, the sweet nothings he used to whisper in Jisung's ears.

It was muscle memory, to toss and turn at night, feel around for Chan's thin arms that would wrap around his waist, his body, that'd press close against Jisung's, warmth shared between them as blush would rise on Jisung's face.

_"I love you, Jisung."_  a row of light kisses would be peppered up his throat, Chan's lips soft as a feather.

If he dreamed long enough, he could feel all that. The more he felt, the more he hurt when he woke up. He didn't want to wake up anymore.

-

They used to dance.

Silly stuff, like twirling around the living room in fuzzy socks, Chan giggling as he slid across the floor with Jisung running after him, catching him before he could fall.

Music would play in the background, but it didn't matter. Whatever was going on around them, they only saw and heard each other, only felt their hands tightly clasped together, matching smiles etched onto their faces.

They were weightless, only tied to each other and nothing else.

There would be the lively spark in Chan's eyes, that one spark of wonder that Jisung loved so much. For how much he loved it, it was sad that he didn't notice it fading.

-

It was unreal, the feelings swarming in Chan when their eyes met for the first time.

A splash of colour and suddenly, the world wasn't cruel anymore. He felt safe, strong, as if nothing could hurt him anymore. 

Ironic, wasn't it?

They both loved it, the feeling of finally being complete, the last puzzle piece falling into its place after being misplaced and thrown around, dissapointed by the world too many times, for way too long.

They felt perfect.

Sleepless nights were replaced by binge watching absurdly bad movies. Jisung loved those, if only for the cute laughs Chan would let out during the awfully-made works. Those eventually turned into simply enjoying each other, lost in passion as they would lie on the couch, kissing.

They never went further, Chan too scared of a truly intimate touch, flinching each and every time Jisung's hand would wander too close. Jisung didn't mind.

What they had was good enough.

And now, all that was gone, only echoes left of what he used to have.

-

His life fell apart, the weight of the world crashing down upon his shoulders after he heard the one final _"I love you"_ before Chan's grip on life weakened and disappeared altogether.

It felt like a promise, like chains and shackles being wrapped around his body, as to stay loyal to the one he had to leave behind.

Had he noticed earlier, he wouldn't have to suffer through this. But Jisung was known for being a bit too late for everything that would prove to be important. 

-

It would never be the same again.

Now his eyes strayed, always stayed on that one razor for a second too long.

Dancing on his own didn't feel good anymore. It used to be fun, relaxing, just not minding life for a minute, let his body fool around with his mind. Now his feet wouldn't listen, he would slump down onto the floor and cry all over again.

Life was meaningless without someone who'd share it with him.

But for now, he would go on.

Wake up every day, bask in Chan's lingering scent before beginning another day, hoping it would get better, even though he knew it'd be just another day he'd grow to hate.

Once again, he will get up, clean his face in that very place Chan's life was taken away from him, where his soul left quicker than Jisung could handle.

He will go through his wardrobe, desperately trying to keep himself from putting on Chan's clothes. He used to insist it's for the comfort, but he knew he'd end up miserable and in tears anyway.

He will look into the fridge, sigh upon its emptiness, remembering those days he and Chan would cook together, the older happily working away while Jisung was stuck to his back, looking over his shoulder, leaving the occasional peck on his shoulder or cheek.

These days, he will accept every drinking invite he gets, hoping to forget, even though he didn't really want to.

And each bitter shot will burn as it goes down his throat, a painful reminder of the truth that couldn't be washed down, wouldn't be erased, of what could've been and won't ever be again.

 

Jisung's hand lingered on the knife he held, the slab of meat in front of him forgotten.

Was this worth it?

Life, where all his happiness drowned out, turning into hollow depression.

When he knew he'd never see the world's true colours again, never see his other half, the only love he ever knew.

That his heart would beat alone, without someone to match to the rhythm.

That one fateful night, Jisung sat on their couch, turning the blade over again and again, each time resisting a little less.


End file.
